


Futile Devices

by AutumnalCoconut



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (they're in their mid-twenties), Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Domestic, Body Worship, Domestic Fluff, Iwaizumi works in a bookshop, Iwaizumi writes poems, M/M, Music is Important, My First Fanfic, Oikawa goes to university, and English isn't my first language, and Iwaizumi is his number one fan, and feelings, in which Oikawa can play guitar, lots of feelings, seriously I just love poetry, so please be gentle!!!, words everywhere, worship in general tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-05
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2018-05-11 15:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5631208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnalCoconut/pseuds/AutumnalCoconut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And I would say I love you<br/>But saying it out loud is hard<br/>So I won’t say it at all. [*]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Futile Devices

**Author's Note:**

> This sprung from a sudden idea and was supposed to be less then 1k words.  
> It now needs another chapter.  
>   
>  _Great._

_[January 14th, 20…; 01:24am]_

_Moments gathered in bunches_  
_Jingly like ice_  
_In a glass,_  
_Ephemeral pleasure_  
_Which in vain burns the soul._

Iwaizumi raised his eyes from the paper he was writing on to meet the man he knew too well, lying unconscious on the bed. _Their_ bed. But Tooru apparently didn’t care and was taking up all of its vital space.  
Iwaizumi sighed and the ghost of a smile made his lips curve up.  
This was the time he used to wrap his day up, trying to arrange the thread of his thoughts into verses capable of expressing what he couldn’t openly say out loud – what he _didn’t want_ to say – because _come on_ , who needed proper words when gestures and looks were far more eloquent.  
The reason why Hajime wrote was – in his opinion – strictly egoistical; he did it for his own sake, in order to keep himself sane and not to be swallowed by the raging force of nature that was Oikawa Tooru: he was both lightning and the calm before a storm, the low-tide and the flood, an influence in his life as fundamental as the moon for the ocean. Sometimes he would find himself halted in his motion just to keep his breath regular, eyes wide open in front of his childhood friend – his _lover_ and _life companion_ – performing mundane tasks: those were the instants which made him realize how deep he had fallen, how immeasurably tight was the bond which connected them.  
He twirled the pen between his fingers, then wrote something more on the paper sheet.

_Cheap whisky – glass – ice – Tooru throws his head back and starts laughing, banging his hand on the table – the liquor burns hot down my throat – so do Tooru’s lips on my skin_

He folded the paper in four and went to the only room of the apartment where he knew Oikawa would never go to: the messy storage closet. Hidden from sight and buried amongst canned food and house products there was an anonymous box, where Hajime secretly stored his poems and the random pictures of Tooru being himself, taken while he wasn’t looking.  
He put the new note in the box, returned to the bedroom and tried to get under the covers without waking the King up. A light peck on the forehead and the whole house was finally asleep.  
  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
_“And don’t say you won’t_  
_Lose your heart_  
_I’ll lose my mind_  
_We’ll make quite a pair_  
_Dazzling aaaall the tiiiiiime～’’_[♦](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9dmIzdegLzg)

When Iwaizumi opened his eyes, he was greeted by the music coming from the radio and by a Tooru full of beans, who was wandering through the rooms singing and trying to make breakfast at the same time: he had read somewhere that a varied diet was important for health, so he had taken the habit of cooking something different every day.  
That morning he was trying to make the perfect Italian breakfast (not because he was a fan, he was just _dying_ to try the percolator he had bought a couple of days before at the mall, ignoring Hajime’s warning that the coffee made that way would be too bitter for his sweet tooth, shaking him off with a _Iwa-chaaan, you’re no fun～_ )  
Iwaizumi entered the kitchen in the exact same moment in which Oikawa was making a disgusted face after taking a sip from his cup, sticking his pinky finger out. Hajime snapped a photo as the other one was muttering to himself that _this coffee tastes burnt_ and that _it’ll take a while before it turns out good_.  
“ I told you this would happen”.  
Oikawa jumped at the comment: “Iwa-chan, how long have you been standing there!?”.  
“Hmm, a bunch of seconds?”  
“You could have-”  
“Yeah, yeah. Good morning, let’s have breakfast now”.  
“So mean!”  
(Tooru put some sort of croissant – _it’s not a croissant, it’s called cornetto_ – in front of him nonetheless).  
(Iwaizumi drunk all the coffee he’d made anyway).

During the week Oikawa was the first one to get up, because he had classes quite early in the morning: he’d get ready, make breakfast for the two of them and then leave the house, not before kissing cheerfully his partner; Iwaizumi would clean up the mess that the other one had made in the kitchen and then go off to work.  
He firmly believed that he wasn’t cut out for the university life; moreover, he was fond of his job at the local bookshop: he didn’t mind helping the customers and he enjoyed reading during breaks. It was thanks to his salary that they could afford paying the rent of their apartment.  
Tooru, instead, had always been eager to learn _everything_ : his fascination with space was a secret to none and when he had announced his intention to study aerospace engineering, his decision seemed to have followed the natural course of events. Plus, he could play the acoustic guitar: he was pretty good at it and his singing wasn’t half bad, so he sometimes performed at pubs to round off their income.  
Their days floated by peacefully.

When both of them were finally back home, it was late in the afternoon: they sat at the dinner table drinking hot tea and chit-chatting about their day.  
“Iwa-chan, you should have been there! This guy arrived late and the only empty seats were just in front of the lecturer. Well, he _tripped_ and fell _face-down_ ”.  
“That sounds dangerous”.  
“Yeah, I know! I was dying from secondhand embarrassment!”  
“… That’s not exactly what I meant”.  
Tooru moved his hands a lot while talking, as if he felt the need to express his thoughts with every fiber of his being: Iwaizumi loved that about him. He loved how passionate Tooru was about anything that picked up his interest. How enthusiastic he was about everything (his day, a movie, a flower, a new song he listened to at the radio, a new piece he learned to play). His body preceded his will, mirroring each word as it was taking shape in his mind. Whenever his mood swung, his hands were there to project even the smallest change.  
Hajime was glad of this.  
Oikawa stood up and went to switch on the radio: “Time to make dinner. Today’s up to you, _Master Chef!”_  
“Oh? I don’t remember ever agreeing on this, though”.  
“Come on, Iwa-chan～. I’ll play something for you after dinner! There’s something that I _really_ want you to hear.”  
This time Iwaizumi was the one standing up: “If you put it this way…”.  
“Yay, victory～”  
_You’re supposed to be smart, you know?_ Iwaizumi put on an apron and turned his back to the room, looking into the fridge in search of the ingredients: “Then, what would you like this evening, _Assikawa_?”.  
No reply.  
“Oi-”  
“Keep looking at your back is something I’d like, to be completely honest”.  
Oikawa left the kitchen giggling after a _you moron_ and a slipper hit his head.

\--------------------------

_[January 15th, 20…; 11:47pm]_

_He’s got me._

_He’s got me whole,_  
_Completely_  
_like I’ve never had_  
_myself_  
_Under his skin_  
_In the palm of his hand._  
_He breathes and my soul_  
_Falters_  
_like the flame_  
_shaken by the breeze_  
_As if life itself_  
_Depends on it._  
_He’s got me_  
_Like the sun’s got_  
_its flowers_  
_the Earth_  
_its system._  
_He rises_  
_And the world_  
_Begins to spin._

_He’s got me._

Back to the quietness of their bedroom, Iwaizumi took a deep breath.

After dinner, Oikawa had kept his promise to play something for him: they had gone to their tiny living room and sat down on the poufs, Tooru had checked his guitar was on tune and started moving his hands on the chords, creating new sounds with elegance and ease.  
They had gone on with this for roughly two hours, singing together the songs they liked most and Tooru acting like the diva he was.  
_Iwa-chan, now the song I wanted you to hear!_  
Hajime had realized too late that the song was _Never gonna give you up_ , sung in the cheesiest way possible; he had ended up getting flustered, throwing a pillow at Oikawa after he had started wiggling his eyebrows.

Now he was waiting for the other to come back from the shower, taking the chance to scribble something down. A poem, some key words: _hands – fingers touching chords – (of the guitar/min--_  
“Iwa-chan, what are you writing so intently?”.  
Tooru was standing at the doorstep, leaning casually on it. He was wearing just a bathrobe and his hair was still dripping wet.  
Iwaizumi froze.  
He hurriedly folded the note while thinking of an excuse: “N-nothing important, some paperwork I forgot to do today”.  
“Oh, is that so?”  
_Shit_. He didn’t dare look at Tooru in the face, but could tell with _a hundred percent certainty_ that he was raising an eyebrow. He couldn’t lie to Oikawa just as much as Oikawa couldn’t lie to him, it had always been that way; a dart of his eyes, a reply too quick or too sharp: even the slightest change in the tone of his voice could be taken as a hint that something was off.  
“Yeah. And announce yourself when you enter a room, damn it”.  
“You’re the one to talk!”  
Tooru slowly approached the bed and lied on it, turning on the side to face Iwaizumi; not a single word left his lips.  
“… Get dressed, or you’ll catch a cold”.  
“Hu-hum”.  
“I won’t be your nurse, you know”.  
“Hu-hum”.  
_Fine_. What the Great King wanted, he attained it. Iwaizumi put the piece of paper in one of the pockets of his trousers, then proceeded to set himself comfortably beside Oikawa, putting an arm around him to keep him close: “Don’t complain tomorrow”.

**Author's Note:**

> [*] [A song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WXkO87nPYDo) and its [lyrics](https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Sufjan-Stevens/Futile-Devices).


End file.
